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This cartoon should make a few people smile.

I'm not a believer in acid revealing universal truths. I suspect the experience is actually a product of the brain and nothing more. Nevertheless, out of nostalgia, I was delighted to come across the following poem/prayer by Tim Leary, an original psychonaut.

PREHISTORIC ORIGINS OF DNA
by Timothy Leary

Its rising is not bright
nor its setting dark

Unceasing, continuous
Branching out in roots innumerable
Forever sending forth the serpent coil
of living things
Mysterious as the formless existence
to which it returns

Twisting back
Beyond mind

We say only that it is form from the formless
Life from spiral void

—from Psychedelic Prayers

Graham Jensen has an interesting array of abstract poems over on Adopt a beard. Interesting, funny and at times magnificent. They're well worth a browse.

Oh, to kiss your elbow
is to taste those tasty candies
with exciting little sugar granules
and a centre that bleeds di-hexide propalmanganate.

(from Do Poems feel naked without a title.)

In the introduction to the selected poems of Philippe Jaccottet, his translator, the Irish poet Derek Mahon, informs us that Jaccottet's poem Patience, from the 1957 collection, L'ignorant, is one of his most admired. On reading it we can see why. It's a beautiful meditation on the themes of decay, and the end of life.

Dans la cartes à jouer abbatues sous la lampe
comme les papillons écroules poussiéreux
à travers les tapis des tables et la fumée

What a pity then, that when we turn to the English translation of the poem itself, we immediately see that the translation has been botched; it contains a number of dubious renderings: for example, does "non sans réprimer un tremblement" really equate with "quelling a calm"? Or pousser with slashing? And even allowing for interpretation, it's difficult to see how Mahon, a Trinity Scholar, can justify translating "Le vieil homme" as "Old men".

Unfortunately, the entire selection has been moth eaten by Mahon in this way. Not so much translation, or transformation, as mutation. In Dans l'éntendue for example, ramiers (woodpidgeons) inexplicably become doves. A nod to surrealism perhaps? Fine if you like it that way, I suppose, but Jaccottet's work contains some of the more interesting French poetry I've read in years, and it deserves better. When I'm less irritated, I'll return to Jaccottet again.

Philippe Jaccottet Selected poems, is available from Wake Forest University press. Buy it - only if you read French.

Here's and extract from a poem by Martín Espada. It's pure New York poetry: beautiful, carefree, and stargazing.

A Mayan Astronomer in Hell's Kitchen

—9th Avenue and West 48th Street, New York, October 1998

Above the deli in Hell's Kitchen where the fire erupted,
above the firefighters charging with hoses like great serpents,
above the fingerprints of smoke smearing the night,
above the crowd calling his name with titled faces,
above the fire truck and its ladder reaching for him,

....

a Mayan astronomer in Hell's Kitchen
watching galaxies spiral in the fingerprints of smoke,
smoking a cigarette.

This site has spotted some Telephone poetry, around Chapel Hill, North Carolina:

The telephone pole poetry along Airport Road may give nearby residents reason to pause. The words, “Every step is in a direction.” are spelled out in metal letters nailed to a series of telephone poles as one heads north down the hill toward Hillsboro Street.

Sounds like fun if it catches on.

This interesting sculpture in honour of William Soutar can be found in Perth, Scotland. Some of his verse is worked into the piece:

Nae day sae dark; nae wüd sae bare;
Nae grund sae stour wi' stane;
But licht comes through; a sang is there;
A glint o' grass is green.

Wha hasna thol'd his thorter'd hours
And kent, whan they were by,
The tenderness o' life that fleurs
Rock-fast in misery?

This plalyful page allows you to, create your own pseudo-Haiku poetry. There's just one little problem. Can you spot it?

Poets Against War have asked me to forward this appeal from Ibrahim Nasrallah, in Jordan, who it seems has been threatened with imprisonment - for writing poetry.

Dear friend,
I hope this finds you well.
I am writing to you today, to inform you about serious charges the
Government of Jordan has accused me of, which might lead to imprisonment.
The accusation is based on verses in some poems I wrote 22 years ago. These
accusations vary from "offending the Jordanian State and the armed forces,
raising internal conflicts and unrest, and presenting distorted information
on the events of September 1970 to the new generations".
As you can see, these accusations are groundless. It is a clear case of
violating the basic human rights, specifically the freedom of expression.
The Jordanian Writer Association has condemned this action and called upon
the Government of Jordan to stop this violation and to immediately drop the
charges against me. Many Jordanian and Arab associations and human rights
organizations have voiced concern and joined the campaign protesting
against this action. Nevertheless, the Government still insists on its
accusations and the charges are now submitted to the Court of Law. If
condemned I'll be facing a prison sentence from 6 to 36 months.
For this, and because I know that you personally would not accept such
violation, I call on you to join the solidarity campaign initiated by The
Jordanian Writer Association, and write to the Jordanian government in
protest against this action. I will appreciate it if you can circulate this
call among friends, media and associations in your country and worldwide.
The addresses of the concerned Government organizations to write to are the
following:

info@pm.gov.jo
info@dpp.gov.jo
info@culture.gov.jo
moc@culture.gov.jo

Warmest Wishes
Ibrahim Nasrallah

Leanne O'Sullivan's Mourning is one of the most artfully constructed poems I've read this year. Small wonder then that this poet is picking up accolades left right and centre. The beauty of Mourning, lies in the clever way succeeding lines and images, draw us back to their precursors. It's well worth a thorough look at for those interested in how much power such a deceptively simple technique can imbue a poem with. You'll find the following astute reminder too:


Some have oceans of
knowledge to feed their
tears, while not a
glass to justify their joy.

Terry McDonagh has made available two collections of his verse at this link. A song for Joanna if full of stepping stone poetry; verse where perspectives on different countries obtained from international travel, form a backdrop to more intimate sentiments. This kind of poetry is increasingly common, but at times a certain dislocation seems to occur, whereby in some countries the poet's eye is distracted by novelties and cliché, which in his own country he would probably dismiss. This can lead to good and bad composition - the judgment is personal; driven mostly by the readers own sense of what constitutes a hackneyed or insightful observation. There is no doubting the quality of Australia From My Distance though. It's a beautiful snapshot meditation on Austrailia's elemental rules for those who wish to live with her.

This is not the home of Oedipus
or Lear
– no one’s there to kill them.
They would have passed away
in the scoffing sun and on the
Dreaming paths of the patient earth.

A more than two-tonne wooden book, engraved with 133 poems of Ho Chi Minh, has just been created. This is the heaviest wooden calligraphy book in Vietnam, and probably the world... (and doesn't that guy on the right look very strong?)

It had to happen sooner rather than later I suppose. Desktop poetry software in the style of Magnetic Fridge Poetry. But with added features to make it much more interesting!